Hot Cocoa
by Prez. Vanellope von Schweetz
Summary: In which Vanellope persuades Ralph to make a cup of hot chocolate with her, despite his reluctance- resulting, of course, in disaster. Two-shot. RalphxVanellope BESTFRIENDSHIP.


**First WiR fan fiction out of many to come. Hopefully.**

**Disclaimer: Most unfortunately, I don't own Wreck-It Ralph. If I did, Bowser would have spoken and Mario would have made a legit cameo- but that is why I don't own it.**

"Stinkbrain."

He turned his head to Vanellope, cocking an eyebrow. "What, Boogerface?"

"Can ya make me a cup of cocoa? Pleeeeeaaaassseee?"

Ralph laughed lowly. "Hot chocolate? What for?" He eyed her, attempting to ignore the puppy dog eyes she was ever so unabashedly flashing at him. "You're lucky I'm lettin' you stay the night, kid."

"I'm cold." She bundled up in her swath of thick, Ralph-sized afghans. "I want hot cocoa."

"Demanding, demanding, demanding. You're not as much a president as you are a dictator." The 'bad guy' grinned to himself and, ducking his head, moved about his miniature kitchen to fetch himself a cherry (a part of the stock he'd been building for awhile now) and munch on it idly. "Besides. I've told you a billion times, brat, I don't make things."

Vanellope scoffed. "Surely even /you/ can make a cup of hot cocoa, Fartface."

"And you're attempting to persuade me…..how? Through flattery? Sorry, kid, that's not working out so well." Ralph chuckled gutturally again and padded into the slightly taller living room to join the minuscule, bundled racer on his elephant-sized couch.

She shifted her position to where her head rested on his broad forearm. She looked up at him with wide, almost anime like, brown eyes. "Plllleeeeeeaaaasssseeee, Ralphie? I'll love you forever!"

"Yeah." He eyed her, though his heart was inwardly melting at that look. He never could stand cute things- but Vanellope was the exception. She was obnoxiously cute- adorable, even, and that /look/ didn't help any. "Like that's going to happen."

The black-haired glitch huffed and straightened, folding her arms. "Fine. I'll make it myself." She shrugged the afghan off of her shoulders and hopped to her feet, glitching into the kitchen, pixels distorting in her wake. Standing upon her tiptoes, she popped open the fridge, the light illuminating her tiny figure. "….Where's the milk, Barfbrain?"

He sighed. "You're not making any hot chocolate. I don't want you setting yourself on fire."

She glared at him. "That's more you than me, butthead." Vanellope returned her attention to the giant fridge, pawing through it, frowning. "Cherry, cherry, cherry-ooh! What's this-oh. Cherry." She poked her head out from the fridge. "Really? All you eat is cherries?" She scoffed.

"Hey," He defended himself, hands up, fingers splayed, palms facing her. "That's all I can get. I can't exactly bring food from BurgerTime back here. Besides." He finished his own almost forgotten cherry. "I like cherries."

"I couldn't tell." Vanellope dryly responded before resuming shuffling through the contents of the fridge. "You /really/ need a chef or something."

"I told you, it's not only that I can't make hot chocolate, I don't have the ingredients to." Ralph shrugged nonchalantly, snagging the afghan draped over the couch arm and pulling it over himself lazily.

"Wait!" Vanellope quickly hefted herself onto the fridge door. "Here it is!" She declared victoriously, yanking out a jug of milk almost too heavy for her to carry. She staggered under its weight and hefted it onto a counter nearby. Ralph stared in astonishment.

"When did I get /milk/?"

"I think it was some kinda present from Hammerguy and War Goddess." Vanellope held up some kind of sticky, drenched yellow note. "Yeah." The handwriting was unreadable. "Oh, well." She exuberantly yanked the cap of the milk jug off.

"Are you seriously making hot chocolate? Do you even know how to cook?"

She glared at him violently. "I live in a world practically made of chocolate. I think I can make something with it."

He grimaced. "Chocolate. Ugh."

"If you feel that strongly about it," She whipped around dramatically, stalking off to hunt through the cabinets for chocolate mix of some sort. "Then you're not getting any." She paused and craned her neck to stick her tongue out at him. "So there."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "Don't 'so there' me. I'm /glad/ I'm not getting any hot chocolate." He glanced at the messily put up Christmas tree, for lack of something better to do. "And, considering I /despise/ the stuff, do you really think you'll find any mix in here?"

"Maybe it'll be a Christmas miracle." Vanellope pawed through the cabinets. "Nope. Nope, nope. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Your kitchen is drier than the Sundae Dessert."

"Another play-on-words?" The giant wrecked rolled his eyes. "Or just a pun?"

"Oh, haha, Vurpbreath, you think you're sooooo funny." Vanellope paused and hurled the milk jug cap at him. "I'm laughing my butt off." She scurried across the counter when the cap was thrown lazily back at her and ducked out of its way. "Ha! Missed me!"

"I wasn't aiming for you."

"Riiiiiight. Looks like you're not as strong as we all thought." She smirked, goading him on.

With his new and, er, improved temper management, he simply rolled his eyes. "Wanna test that out?" He flicked an enormous hand dismissively at her. "Just go make the hot chocolate, kid."

Vanellope stuck out her tongue again, blowing an obnoxiously loud raspberry. "You can't tell a president what to do, Halitosis Hobo."

"Clever." Ralph actually laughed and clambered to his feet, discarding the afghan. "Okay, you wanna make some hot chocolate? Will that calm you down?"

She nodded eagerly- though her fingers were crossed in her jacket pockets.

"Alright, alright." He shambled over to the final drawer Vanellope hadn't bothered checking and withdrew a bottle of chocolate mix. She stared at him, bewildered.

He turned a faint pink and scratched the back of his neck. "What?"

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Well, well, well, well, well."

"Don't do that." Ralph grimaced. "I just happened to have it, okay? I mean, it's not like I actually /like/ chocolate or anything. Vanilla's so much better."

"Whatever you say, Ralphie boy," sang Vanellope, whipping the bottle of mix from his hands. "But I think you secretly loooooooooooooooooove chocolate and wanna marry it-"

He gingerly covered her mouth with his thumb. "Shut it." His voice was faintly bemused. "It's chocolate /mix/. Not the same." At the last bit, his eyebrows quirked. "And just exactly how immature can you get, von Sour?"

Vanellope rolled her eyes and nipped at his thumb. He jerked it back and glared at her, though it hadn't really caused him any sort of pain. She merely fluttered her eyelashes and turned to heave the chocolate mix next to the milk.

Slapping her hands together, she rolled up the sleeves of her jacket. "Alright, it's time to make this baby." At Ralph's wary gaze, she rolled her own dark eyes. "I promise not to blow anything up, alright, Stinkbrain? Now, ya gonna help me or not?"

He exhaled heavily, staring at the chocolate mix and the milk. It /was/ Christmas, after all. "Sure, kid. Why not."


End file.
